


Two in the Force

by ShadowEtienne



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: But they get better, M/M, Reincarnation fic, Well yes they die, sort of fix it fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9076594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowEtienne/pseuds/ShadowEtienne
Summary: Chirrut  Îmwe and Baze Malbus die on Scarif, but that is only the beginning.  The Force still has things for them to do, and they are given another chance to find each other and fulfill the will of the force.





	1. Within the Force

**Author's Note:**

> I am still pretty new to Star Wars as a fandom, so if you notice any inconsistencies, or things that I might well not know about, please feel free to leave me a comment with stuff to look up or links to references.

Chirrut knew as he fell to the sand that he had accomplished his goal.  He felt it in the way the universe seemed to shift around him, as though a pivotal point had been reached and passed.  He could only hope that his choice would lead to to Jyn’s success.  Time seemed to stretch between his breaths, though he could hear himself continuing to murmur, “I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” voice growing weaker with each repetition.

There was a rushing in his ears as, suddenly, strong familiar arms cradled him.  He could feel the pull of the Force then, washing him free from his body, but he stayed long enough to tell Baze that he’d be waiting, and as he slipped into the stream of the Force, he heard Baze take up his words, words that had not fallen from Baze’s lips in more years than Chirrut entirely liked to consider.  His last thought before he slid into the current of the Force was that Baze was about to do something foolish.

 

At first there was stillness.  Chirrut did not sense anything close to him, nor did he hear anyone or anything.  It was as though he was floating, a great expanse tumbling around him.  A hint of voices from far away seemed to float past him, but they seemed unimportant.  Rivulets of the Force began to form around him, wrapping him in a gentle cocoon, as he waited.  He was cradled, warm and safe, and he allowed his mind to drift.  

He remembered the first time he had met Baze, as teenagers, both new to the order, heads freshly shaved.  Chirrut had still had just the hint of his vision then, and he remembered in the fondest corner of his heart the image of Baze, tall and lanky and not quite sure where his hands and feet were.  He knew that Baze had grown into a man much fuller and stronger in frame, but Chirrut had not seen it, only felt it.

He knew that it would not be long before Baze joined him.  He had felt that there was little hope of them escaping with their lives.  He only hoped that Baze did not suffer.  His mind drifted to their recent companions, but as the current of the Force pulled at him more, the weaker memories seemed to dissipate like the steam above a cup of tea when he waved his hand through it.

He was among the Whills now, and they whirled around him, drawing the currents of the Force to him to guide him onwards.  He had sensed this flow and shift within the Force, though not as well as any Jedi once might have, for most of his life.  He had sharpened the skill of sensing at the temple when he was young, and now, it was there, fully surrounding him.  He wondered if he could reach out with the will of the Force and shape events from here, but something stopped him from trying, as though will of the Whills held him back from acting.  The whispers were there too, the ones that had long guided him, more full and meaningful now.

 

Thoughts not his own flickered through his mind, and he registered that they might be the will of the Force, the thoughts of the Whills, moving through him.  There were whispers of movement in the force, of the light side rising again.  There were murmurs of fear, love, sorrow, and the emotions of thousands upon thousands whose lives touched the Force.  There, resonating through it all, was  _ hope _ .  Chirrut felt the swell of hope as some unknown power exploded in waves through the Force, quiet echoes of life muting all around where he had slipped into the current.  The whispers around him mourned, but they too seemed to anticipate the effects of the powerful blast.  

The current tugged at him more now, willing him to move towards his next destination, but Chirrut waited.  He had promised he would wait, and he did not want to go on without Baze.  He did not know what was in wait for him.  He heard, in almost voiced whispers of the Whills, “There is more for you to do.”  He focused his thoughts, trying to reach the consciousness of the Whills, “Not without Baze.  I said I would wait.”

He sensed the moment that someone joined him, reaching out through the streams of the Force around him for Baze.  They had no physical form here, but the memory of life was close enough in their minds within the Force that it felt much the same.  He could feel Baze’s confusion and uncertainty, mingling with relief when he realized that Chirrut was there waiting for him.  There were no words within the power of the Whills for them, but Chirrut thought warm and loving thoughts at Baze, knowing that they would move forwards soon.

Baze’s presence in the Force curled tight against his own, clinging in a way that Chirrut could not recall him ever doing in life, for in life, Baze had always been full of solidity and protectiveness.  Baze was far more frightened in the hold of the Force than Chirrut was.  He let go of his mooring now that Baze was with him, and they drifted through the streams of the Force, pulled away from the sense of death and destruction by the currents that had been tugging at Chirrut.  The hope lingered though, and Chirrut fed that feeling through their contact in the Force to Baze.

He did not know how long they drifted, but suddenly, there was something else, a scent of lush growing forests and cold winds promising snow filled Chirrut’s senses.  He was pulled to the thought of water and life.  He tried to hold on to Baze, to draw him along the same path, but suddenly his ability to hold on to the form of his partner in the Force slipped away, and he fell into quiet and stillness.  Something was missing, and then Chirrut’s consciousness faded into the beginnings of a new life.  His mind echoed with a thought in those last moments as he reached for Baze with his mind, “I’ll find you.  Just keep looking for me.”

 

Baze thought he screamed when Chirrut suddenly slipped away from him, but there was no sound here, no sense of anything much, though he wondered if Chirrut had perhaps sensed and understood more of where they were.  The current that had seemed to move them carried Baze onward, and he tried desperately to reach back to where Chirrut had slid away from him.  Had he still been in his living body, there would have been tears streaming down his face, as there had been when he had lost Chirrut on Scarif, but it was almost worse to have him wrenched away again so soon.  They were dead, and he wished that there was some way that he could have at least stayed with Chirrut in death.

There was no sense of time within the pull of the Force, and he continued to drift, internally railing against the thought of having lost Chirrut.  Suddenly, there was bright light, and he felt the scrape of sand, and if he had still had a nose, he would have sneezed from the sense of dust.  Baze felt himself sinking into cool sand.  It felt familiar, like home, but somehow strange and new.  With his last conscious thought, he promised himself that he would find Chirrut again, and then everything faded.


	2. Blind Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a small farm, on a small planet, near the edges of the Outer Rim, a child comes into the world far from the influences of the Empire or the Rebellion.

Dawa and Durjeh Chodan had inherited their parents’ farm at the young ages of sixteen and eighteen respectively.  They’d done well enough for themselves, even though it was a good half day’s walk to the nearest town.  At least the nearby trading center held one of the few small spaceports on Duhma.  The mountains towered over their land, visible in the occasional clearing in the thick rain forest, but always present in the cold winds that slithered their way between the ancient towering trees.

Their lives were quiet for a few years, bringing in crops from the small patches of land planted around the giant trees, gathering valuable fruits and herbs from deeper in the jungle on their land, and occasionally trapping for the skins of the beasts that came down from the mountains.  The iridescent scales brought a high price when they could bring in full undamaged skins, and Dawa was one of the best trappers in the region.  She had a sense of where the beasts would most likely wander, and her older brother was happy to listen to her advice.

Their third year running the farm, they had a small harvest, but three whole skins, which would bring them enough for the coming year.  They made the trek into town together, taking turns pulling the handcart with their precious harvest and skins.  They’d sealed their cellar tight and latched the door of the house, but there was nothing much of value on the farm with what they carried, so they’d were unworried about leaving it unattended.  Dawa sang cheerfully as they walked with occasional accompaniment by Durjeh, and they made good time, arriving in town around the time of the midday pause for food.

They set up their cart in the market, and they were pleased to see that there were three whole ships in dock.  They were all smugglers, but that was of little concern to Dawa and Durjeh.  Most of the traders who stopped on Duhma were smugglers.  It was a small out of the way planet without many natural resources, and there was little cause for the Empire to be interested in them.  They only heard rumors of what happened far away.

Smugglers meant good prices, for they were willing to pay more for skins than most regular traders.  The siblings sat on their cart and ate, watching for those who might be interested in their wares.  It wasn’t long before locals that they knew well enough came by, trading bits of their own harvests for things that they needed from Dawa and Durjeh’s.  Soon enough, they were done with the trading of foodstuffs, and they were just waiting for some of the smugglers to get to them.  Durjeh had put word in with a few of his friends to pass on to the smugglers, since they had bigger carts and were more noticeable.

The sun was starting to sink in the sky turning the clouds purple and orange, when at last a crew found their way to them.  There were three of them, two humans and someone else who Dawa couldn’t quite place, but they seemed friendly, and the older of the two humans offered a good price on their skins.  The younger one was flagging though.  One of his arms was in a sling, and he looked tired.  He also looked familiar, though Dawa couldn’t quite place where she might recognize him from.

As the other two smugglers turned to walk off with their newly purchased skins.  The younger smuggler caught up to his boss and said some quiet words to him.  The older man replied, loud enough to hear, “You sure you want to do this son?  There’s good money to be made, and you’re one of my better shots in the turrets.”

The younger smuggler only shook his head and turned away, heading back towards them.  He saw Dawa’s questioning look, and he paused, smiling at her a little bit.  She considered asking what had happened, but before she could decide what to say, he spoke, “I came from here originally.  Left when I was pretty young though, maybe fourteen or so.  It’s been about ten years.  Don’t quite know where I’ll go.  My family’s all dead, but I didn’t want to be out there any longer.”

On impulse, Dawa replied, “Come stay with us for a bit.  I’m sure we can find something for you to do on the farm.  I’m Dawa.  Dawa Chodan.”

He smiled at her, and looked questioningly at her brother.  He said, “I just might take you up on that, if it’s actually alright.  I’m Losang Tahshi.”

Durjeh laughed and told Losang, “She makes the decisions, and I’ve never known them to be off the mark.  You’re welcome in our home for the time being.  I’m Durjeh Chodan, nice to meet you.”

They were a friendly group, travelling back to the farm the next day, after having spent the night in sleeping rolls, one improvised, on the cart.  Losang brought with him stories of the Rebellion and the Empire, of the fighting that went on.  While the smugglers mostly kept their noses out of it, the group that he’d been a part of had been working to get supplies through to Rebellion bases, and he’d liked that about them.  As they finally reached the farm, Losang said, “Part of the reason I wanted to stay is that it felt safe here, out of harm’s way.  I’ve gotten tired of being shot at.”

Losang fell into the rhythm of life with Dawa and Durjeh easily enough.  He was good at climbing trees once his arm finished healing, and he knew many songs that Dawa had never heard before.  With the turning of the seasons, as they settled together more firmly, he and Dawa had an informal sort of marriage.  They were comfortable, they fit, and all of them wanted more family ties.

By the time the seasons turned again, Dawa was expecting their first child.  She spent less time out setting traps, but she still directed the work of the farm, and she sent Losang out to set traps for her, for he’d proved to be a better hand at that work than her brother was.  Durjeh and Losang were good friends, and they worked well together as well, trading off less favored tasks so no one person had to do them more often than they could stand.

Dawa was nearing the end of her pregnancy when the storm happened.  She had been at home, minding the fires and doing small chores.  Durjeh had been tending the fields close to their home, and Losang had been out setting traps.  He should have been home already, but he wasn’t, and Dawa was beginning to be concerned.  Durjeh suddenly crashed into their home, saying, “There’s snow coming down so thick I barely made it back.  I don’t know where Losang is, but we’d best hope he found some cave or hollow to ride it out in.  The storm came down off the mountain so suddenly I had no chance to go looking for him.”

Dawa nodded.  She did not know what to say, and her brother came and looped his arms around her.  He was silent to then, but she knew that he was hoping as much as she was that Losang would come back to them safely.  

 

That night, she fell into a restless sleep, tossing and turning from dream to dream as the storm raged outside their home.  She thought that she heard Losang’s voice in her dream, and she ran towards him, but then she was falling, and suddenly, her dream shifted.  She was floating in warmth, as whispering currents wrapped around her, carrying words in many tongues to her ears.  

She seemed to drift along in the gentle currents, and she settled in her sleeping as she did.  She listened, straining to hear something that would tell her whatever the forces around her wanted to convey, and at last a vision resolved.  She saw two men on a sandy beach, one cradling the other, both bruised and battered, they were speaking, but she couldn’t hear most of it, except one word.  The man who was sitting said, “Chirrut,” clearly calling out to the man in his arms.  She saw, for just a second, a flash of his eyes, clouded with blue, and then she floated away on the current, filled with both sorrow and hope not her own.  She had a sense of these two, in a strange and distant place, and she wondered why her dreams had shown her this, for the vision was clearly something real.

When she woke, the storm had passed, but there was a thick layer of snow on the ground outside, higher than her waist.  Durjeh climbed out into it anyhow, telling her to stay where it was warm.  He was going in search of the distant neighbor who was a midwife, since he did not want to leave her on her own when she was so close to when the baby was expected, and then, he was going in search of Losang.  He knew the route that her husband had planned to take, and he figured that Losang might be in need of help.

Dawa was still shaken from the dream, and the baby seemed restless when she laid her hand over it.  She hugged her brother tightly for a moment before ushering him on his way, hoping that Losang had survived the storm outside, but knowing that there was a good chance that he would not have.  She went to sit by the fire and wait, though she hated waiting, for there was nothing else she could do.

It was near midday when the midwife arrived, and there was still no sign of Durjeh returning, though Dawa had not expected him so soon.  She was glad for the midwife though because she had felt the first pangs of what she thought must be the baby coming.  She was glad to go lie down again, drifting into fitful sleep, and let the midwife watch over her.  She was woken by her own cries as the labor started, and by nightfall, she was holding her son in her arms, wrung out and exhausted, but doing better than the midwife had expected.  Durjeh and her husband had not yet returned.

The midwife looked over the child and said, “He looks as though he might be blind, though perhaps not, he cries well enough even if his eyes are strange.  Have you thought of a name for him yet?”

Dawa brushed her hand over the baby’s cheek, staring at his blue frosted eyes, and wondering if perhaps her vision had been a sign.  It seemed right somehow, and she said softly, “He shall be Chirrut.  Chirrut Tahshi, son of Dawa and Losang.  Thank you for being here to help.”

It was a while yet before Durjeh returned, drooping with exhaustion and chilled to the bone.  He looked stricken when he came to Dawa’s bedside, though there was a spark of joy in his eyes when he saw the child cradled in her arms.  He brushed the hair back from his sister’s face, voice cracking and sad when he spoke, “I found him, but I could not reach him.  He had fallen from the cliff near the waterfall basin.  He must have been looking for shelter from the snow and missed the edge.”

Dawa buried her face in her brother’s shoulder and cried then, cradling her son close.  She resolved herself though:  she would be strong and there for her son.  She recovered quickly and well from childbirth, soon going back to her tasks, carrying Chirrut about in a sling most of the time.  She missed Losang and mourned him, but she kept herself too busy to think of him much, and in time, the year with him seemed to resolve itself almost into a pleasant dream.  She was kept busy with Chirrut, for he crawled and walked young, and he was constantly curious.  He also ran into things constantly.  As he learned to speak, it became clear that he was not completely blind, but the world that he saw was one of colors and motion and far less details than her own.


	3. A Blur of Light and Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chirrut begins to go to school. Being blind is inconvenient, even if he isn't fully yet. There's something waiting for him out there, but for now, he's seven.

When Chirrut was seven, a school opened for the local children.  There were finally enough of them in the area, and it was safe enough for people to travel to Duhma for school materials to reach them.  His uncle would take him on the long walk about halfway into town, starting out before the sun crested the horizon.  Chirrut had little trouble with the lack of light once he knew the way, for he remembered it through other senses:  the feeling of the path under his boots, the number of steps, the scents of the different trees, the feeling of growing warmth and steam in the forest as the sun began to rise, and the ache in his thighs and feet from the long walk.  He knew that his Uncle Durjeh would be checking the traps that his mother had set the day before as he returned to the farm, and Chirrut had wanted to get the chance to do that with Durjeh for most of his remembered life, but for now, he had to go to school.

The teacher was an offworlder who had travelled from a planet firmly within the safe area of the New Republic.  Chirrut found her teachings, often as full of stories of the great battles of the Rebellion as of actual scholastic material, fascinating.  Though sometimes, the stories seemed like they belonged in a completely different universe than the one of the quiet farm he had grown up on.  At the same time, he found school frustrating.  He had long since stopped running into walls and trees and stones around his family’s land, and the walk to school was easy enough, but school itself was a constantly changing labyrinth.  Chairs and desks didn’t stay put, and even worse wasthe us of holoprojectors to view materials.  Chirrut could memorize a story having heard it, so history was not too hard, and he followed his math well enough, performing operations in his head.  However, there were many lessons where the teacher would show diagrams or explanations.  To Chirrut, there was at most a wash of color describing the form of something on the holoprojector.

He didn’t say anything at first, and there were no particular tests or markers of progress because having a school in their part of Duhma was so new, but over time, the teacher noticed, and she eventually pulled him aside after class, before he headed to his long walk home.  He hesitated, waiting for her to express the problem, and at last, she spoke, “Chirrut, you’re a bright enough child, you learn quickly, and can do math well above most of your peers.  Something’s holding you back in a lot of other subjects though, and I’ve noticed that you don’t join in with the games that the others play during the breaks.”

He wondered what she saw when she looked at him.  She seemed uncomfortable telling him this, and he wanted to just go back to where he was comfortable, or possibly to somewhere that no one knew anything about him.  He dropped his head and spoke very softly, “I understand the ideas when you talk about them, but I can’t see what you’re talking about.”

He didn’t know how to explain.  He could see a little bit, enough to know that she had flame bright hair, different from the black and brown hair he and all the other children had.  Enough to see the washes of blue and green of the sky in openings in the canopy, or the colors of the sunset or sunrise.  He could sense that she was confused, there was a fumbling few starts before she managed to talk, “Your… father?  He didn’t say that you were blind.”

Chirrut shuffled his feet against the rough hewn boards of the school floor, and he muttered, “He’s my uncle, and I’m not completely.  I don’t see much more than colors and general shapes though.  Mama, she describes things for me sometimes, and I can almost imagine what it might be like, but I’ve always been like this.”

The teacher paused for a bit before telling him, “You get around remarkably well.  I would like to talk to your parent, well your mother and uncle, at some point about preparing you for a scholarship to one of the schools in the New Republic.  You are too young now, but in a few years, if you continue your studies as you have been, you might have a chance to study somewhere with the correct equipment to help you.  I can only do so much, but it might be good if you perhaps came a bit later and stayed a bit later so I could work with you on subjects that you can’t learn the same way as the rest of the class.”

Chirrut turned towards her, surprise evident on his face.  He’d thought that he was perhaps in trouble.  Many adults other than his mother and his uncle were bothered by him running into things or standing in awkward places or just not realizing they were trying to show him things.  He was used to being in the way.  He told her hesitantly, “I’ll bring Mama to talk to you tomorrow.”

She put a gentle hand on his shoulder and said, “You do that.  I’ll look forward to it.”

Chirrut headed home, running a bit, and enjoying the feeling of the forest around him.  He knew every step of this path winding between the ancient trees that formed the sweet and spicy scented canopy that arched high above him.  Close to halfway through his trip home, there was a stream that crossed ways with the path, and he took a moment to sit there, content that he had made up the time from his talk with his teacher.

He lowered himself onto a stone by the stream, lying on his stomach, and trailed his hands into the water.  In the warmer seasons, he would wade in, but the water was still ice cold from the mountain run off.  The feeling of the flow of the water around his hands and arms was soothing.  It reminded him of something, though he knew not what.  It was like there was someone or something just out of reach, something welcoming that understood him and called to him.

Chirrut wondered if maybe the scholarship that his teacher mentioned would take him to whatever or whoever was calling him.  At least it would be more interesting.  There was a part of him that longed to never really leave home again, to walk between the towering trees and tend the farm and wade in the streams forever, but there was also a part of him that wanted to follow in the footsteps of the heroes from his teacher’s stories.  He suspected that whoever was waiting for him would not be able to come find him very well if he stayed put.

He was nervous when his mother came with him to the school the next morning, though he knew that she was proud that the teacher had picked him out especially.  Dawa didn’t interact with other people all that much, though apparently, before he was born and his father had died, she had sung often and loved to travel into town.  She cared for him deeply, and for his uncle as well, but she was a solemn woman, focused on work and responsibility above all else.

Chirrut sat in the school yard during the first break while his mother and the teacher talked.  He could hear the gentle lilt of his mother’s voice, still full of music though she did not sing as his uncle said she once had, and between her phrases, he could hear the teacher’s choppier words, but he could not make out most of their conversation.  He could hear his mother’s curiosity and uncertainty though, and he hoped that perhaps she would be interested in the teacher’s words.

He was surprised when his mother came out of the school and took him by the hand, saying gently, “You’ll take the rest of the day off today, and we’ll start the new way in the coming days.”

He walked the way home with his mother, something different from his normal routine.  She told him, “Your teacher thinks that you are gifted in many ways, and possibly she says that you should even be sent to train at a special school, but she is not sure.  She said she would send out some questions with the next ship of the New Republic that comes through, but that you are really too young to be entirely sure at the moment.  I’m loath to lose you little one, but it’s a good long time yet, and I think that perhaps she is right.  What will there be here for you?”

Chirrut didn’t have an answer for her, and he thought that she wasn’t really asking him.  He hesitated when they came to his stream, and he was surprised when his mother stopped as well and knelt before him, speaking to him from the same height, “Let’s stop here for a time.  I’ve always found it peaceful here.”

She led him to his own usual rock perch and sat beside him.  Tentatively, he stretched out and reached to trail his fingers in the water.  His mother asked him curiously, “Isn’t it awfully cold for that?”

Chirrut was quiet, but his mother was used to waiting for his answers, and eventually, he told her, “It reminds me of something, of drifting and being somewhere safe.  But it always makes me feel like I’m missing something, or someone.  Do you know who it is Mama?”

His mother was quiet for a long time, and Chirrut began to wonder if he had said something wrong.  She brushed her fingers gently through his hair where it fell to cover his eyes and said, “I think that maybe I do.  There is something that flows around us, something that we cannot feel most of the time, or at least I can’t, but before you were born, I felt it for a bit, and I saw some things.  I don’t understand most of it, but I think that it’s connected to you.  It wasn’t here.  I know that my little one.  I think that there is a good chance that you will need to travel farther than just the little school to find whoever it is.”

Chirrut pouted, clearly worried now, and asked, “Do I need to leave soon?”

Dawa gathered her son into her arms, tucking him tightly under her chin, and replied, “No, not soon.  If you are able to get the scholarship that your teacher speaks of, you would not leave before you were at least ten or twelve, so at least three years, maybe five.”

Chirrut burrowed his head closer against her neck, losing the feeling of being lost for the time being.  They were quiet for the rest of the walk home, and Chirrut listened to the sounds of the forest, the only home he’d known, wondering what it might be like on different planets.


	4. In the Sandstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baze is not as prepared for the will of the Force as Chirrut was, so he takes a little bit longer to get where he's going.

As Baze slipped from the gentle push of the Force’s current, he fell into a roaring storm of sand.  All around him, the harshness of it cut through his senses, and he thought that it was good that he had no body in this storm.  He worried for a moment that he had only dreamed in the pull of the Force and that he had Chirrut had been swept away on Jedha when the city had exploded, torn up by the sand and stone wave, but the memories were too clear for that, and his sense of Chirrut, still strong in the Force, was too great.  He trusted in Chirrut’s words.  As long as he looked to the Force and allowed himself to feel its pull, they would eventually find each other again.

There was a small pop and a flash of light.  The light circled him the rushing sands, waiting and watching, and a strange whispery voice said, “You are not ready yet.”

Baze tried to shout, but nothing came from his imagined mouth, and he felt as though he was only thinking very loudly, “Not ready for what?  Chirrut will need me.”

The rasping whisper, harmonized with the sand’s own rasp, laughed, and replied, “Ready to be born again.  You were once devout and strong in the Force, but it has been too long since you touched the flow of the power of the Whills.  It might tear you apart to let you be born right now.”

Baze nearly screamed internally, but the light was gone, and he felt as though he was floating.  He didn’t know how much time passed, for the time within the Force was different, and he wondered if he would be too late to find Chirrut.  Suddenly, the sound of the sand returned, and there was a push between his shoulders.  There was no voice this time, just a subtle feeling that it was time to go, and he slid sideways, conscious though slipping away from him, and only tethering him to the past with a sense of reaching for something within the Force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in posting and the short chapter. I'm posting these as I get them written, and sometimes work and wrists that at time fail to work get in the way. Expect a few more Baze chapters coming soon.


	5. In the Midst of Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baze is born on a desert world, not too different from the one he was from at first.

Erdain Jhargal definitely did not look like the child of one of the more prosperous merchants of Zoronhed at that moment, but for all that she in theory was rather well off among the people of her desert world, Zonju was not exactly the system she wanted to spend the rest of her life in.  She had always had a bit of mechanical aptitude, and as a bit of a daredevil, that had led her first to repairing swoops and then to racing them.

She smacked the dented, dusty side of the swoop bike she was trying to add more power to and grumbled, “Piece of junk,” reaching up to push her hair out of her face and leaving a streak of oil and dirt across her cheek.  Her father didn’t approve, so she mostly got her own bikes from whatever the people she fixed them for didn’t want to keep.  

A familiar voice rang out from the edge of her work area, “Hallo Erdain, you gonna be at that all day, or can I drag you off for a bit of a drink and a dance.  Just got back into port.”

A smile lit her face, and she waved to Zorig Khulahn.  He’d been out on run on the Hydian Way, carrying various goods to Rutan, and he’d promised her a night out away from any of her father’s watchers when he got back.  She chucked her wrench at the recalcitrant bike and pulled the overlayer of her jumpsuit most of the way back on, only bothering to fasten it high enough not to fall off.

She sauntered over to him, grin still on her face and smacked him lightly in the arm before drawing him into a hug, “Zorig, I was beginning to wonder if you were holding out on me and taking other people on other worlds out drinking to stall coming back.”

He hugged her tightly in return and teased, “And miss your most excellent dirt coated presence?  We had to play a little bit of hide and seek with the tariff officers, that’s all.  I’d have much rather been here with you.  Did I miss your race?”

She shook her head, linking arms with him and leading the way back towards her indoor workshop back near and erg at the back of the lot she did her work in.  She elbowed him just hard enough to get a small yelp of protest and said, “Nah, the race is tomorrow, and while I understand you appreciate that I am covered in dirt and grease, but I’m going to use the cleaner before I go anywhere with you.  I wouldn’t want to make you look any less glamorous after all.”

Zorig snorted and told her, “You do what you want, a few more minutes of wait won’t hurt me.”

She leaned over and exaggeratedly sniffed his jacket.  She sighed and told him, “Maybe you should join me space boy.  You smell like you were transporting livestock on that ship.”

He laughed and followed her into the little building, saying, “Well it might make us a bit later than I’d planned.”

She tugged him along with her, rolling her eyes, replying, “The club’s open all night, and I’ve missed you.”

 

The following morning dawned sandy, but the weather predictions announced in the morning didn’t have any sandstorm warnings, so Erdain made her way to the race grounds first thing in the morning.  She wasn’t racing in one of her own swoops that day, though it was one she’d done all of the work on for a few years now.  A friend had wanted to sponsor someone in this race, and she’d not wanted to pass up the chance to ride his fancy swoop.

It was nice, she reflected, to make the walk over with Zorig instead of alone, and it definitely took the edge of nerves she got when racing for someone else’s benefit as well as her own to have him there giving her a kiss for luck and rubbing her shoulders to make them relax.  He left for the stands while she finished her preparations, but she was pretty sure she had it in her to win this.

The course itself was one that she’d raced or run on her own dozens of times.  It wound through the canyons and gullies near town, and all through it were sharp turns and sudden rises and falls in elevation.  She knew that on the swoop bike she was riding, there were a couple of places in the course that she could navigate the tighter, faster arc instead of the safer, slower one that went over a ridge instead of through a gap.  There were no restrictions on which vertical path she took though, only which horizontal one, and she was fairly certain that she could win, or at least make one of the prize places.

She didn’t look for Zorig in the crowd, or Gehr, their older friend who’d put her up for this race, because she didn’t have the time to be distracted.  There were about a dozen other racers lined up at the start, mostly people she’d raced before, but there were a few unfamiliar faces as well, and those always worried her because they might well be from the swoop gangs that held most of the land outside the cities on Zonju V.  She didn’t have the time to worry about that then, instead focusing on running the course in her mind one more time.

She tailed a few other racers through the first few turns, staying just close enough behind them that she got a little bit of a boost off their wakes.  She didn’t want to make her move too soon because she knew that some of the other racers would try to knock her smaller bike clear out of the air.  The fourth turn was an opportunity she couldn’t stand to miss though.  There was a great spike of stone that roze in the middle of the canyon, forcing the riders to swing up and over it, but right above the ground, there was a narrow passage just big enough for a single rider to make it through if they were able to keep themselves tight to their bike.

When the two racers in front of her veered up, she dropped to only an handspan away from the desert floor, and shot through the opening, weaving through the slightly bending passageway and rocketing out the other side into the first stretch of open desert of the course before the other two racers had even made the top of the ridge.  She heard the screams of the crowd and the stunned tone of the announcer, but she didn’t let it rattle her focus, accelerating across the open land towards the next set of canyons.

She was starting to get a bit nervous when no one seemed to have caught up to her by the time she dropped into the next gully, but she kept going, knowing that winning this would mean a hefty prize, and if she was lucky, a chance to get a position on the same smuggling ship as Zorig, no matter how much that would appall her father.  

It wasn’t until she reached the last few sharp turns of the course that she heard someone roaring up behind her again.  She managed a quick glimpse as she rounded the next bend, and she was worried to see that it was one of the racers she hadn’t recognized.  She had no idea what his tactics would be, so all she could really try to do was outrun him.  There were three more turns and then an open stretch, and he was gaining on her, taking his bike a little bit higher than hers.  She knew that there was one more place she could probably throw him off so he didn’t have a chance to bring his bike swooping down on hers, which she was beginning to suspect that he was planning if he could get close enough to her.

She counted down, through the second to last turn, and then, as they approached the final turn, she suddenly shot her bike up into the air, almost clipping the nose of his bike he was so close behind now, and as he tried to swing his bike into hers, she took the turn at the last possible moment, and heard his bike slam into the rock wall behind her as she raced towards the finish.  She could tell from the cheers that there were other bikes coming into the open as she crossed the line, but she’d won, and Zorig was there at the finish to scoop her up and swing her around, shouting things that she could tell were praise but couldn’t understand through the roaring in her ears from the race.  It didn’t really matter though.

 

It turned out that Zorig was there for an extended shore leave.  His ship had been spotted by two different sets of authorities, and they’d decided to lay low in their home port for a while to lose the unwanted attention.  Erdain found a happy sort of rhythm, fixing bikes and racing them, mostly in the smaller races, and spending her free time with Zorig.  They’d sometimes go into town for drinks, but there was a lot of time that they just spent at her shop on the edges of town, him getting covered in grease as she showed him some of the mechanical tricks she’d picked up.

He was trying to talk his captain into taking her on, so that they could travel their corner of the galaxy together, and she spent some of her time fending off recruitment from a couple of the swoop gangs that hung around closer to town.  She had no trouble with smuggling.  It brought valuable resources to the Zonju system, and she didn’t have any good feelings towards the Imperial troops that the official routes would help pay, but the swoop gangs preyed on the people of their own world, and that she would have none of.

 

When she realized she was pregnant, she stopped joining in races, casual or competitive.  She was a bit surprised, though later she decided that she shouldn’t have been with how much time she and Zorig had gotten to spend together, but she wasn’t displeased.  She imagined a life of herself and Zorig and their child on their own smuggling ship, exploring and bringing home interesting riches, and between the past several races she’d won, and his payments from his captain, there was a decent chance for them to buy their own small ship. 

Zorig looked hopeful when she told him, but he asked carefully, “Are you sure you want to keep the child?  I know we’ve not planned for one, though I’d hoped eventually.”

She grabbed his hand and said, “Yes, I’m sure.  It just means that we should try for our own ship sooner.”

She was relieved when Zorig looked pleased, glad that he wouldn’t try to argue with her.  And they went about their lives for a time, with him working various jobs around the city, and her continuing to fix bikes for her racer friends.  Only towards the end of her pregnancy did she actually take the time to rest and prepare.

The child was born not as planned in the one hospital in the city, but instead in her shop with Zorig and Enkhe Gehrel, their friend Gehr’s daughter, just a few years younger than them who had been helping Erdain for the past few weeks, as her only help because of a sandstorm so dense that they couldn’t see the bike two strides outside the door.

Enkhe had been training to be an assistant at the hospital though, which had been part of the reason her father had asked her to watch out for Erdain, and things went well enough.  Just as the child was born, there was a crashing and then a sudden stillness in the sandstorm, and Erdain thought that she could hear someone whispering what seemed to her somehow like a name, “Baze, Baze.”

When Enkhe placed the child in her arms after having washed him off, she looked at him and said very softly, “Is that you?  Baze?  There’s something big waiting for you.”

Zorig was there then, brushing her hair out of her face, and he asked, “Have you been thinking of a name?”

Erdain looked up at him and said, “How about Baze.”

Just then, the fury of the sandstorm started again, and Zorig had to shout to be heard over it, “That sounds good to me.  Our son, Baze Zorigahn.”

Erdain slept then, exhausted from her day, and once the sandstorm dissipated, they made their way into town to visit the hospital.  She was healthy though, and her son was as well.  Soon enough they went back to their usual habits, and Erdain was determined that she would win a big race with one of her own bikes so that they would finally have enough for that ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the quick update this time makes up for how slow the last one was. :) I hope that this continues to be interesting. One more chapter of Baze before we go back to Chirrut for a while (I think).


	6. In the Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things were peaceful enough in Baze's life for a time, but then there were strange people coming looking for those with the Force, and swoop gangs again bothered his family.

Erdain had the most successful swoop bike and speeder repair shop in Zoronhed despite refusing to do business with the swoop gangs outside of the city.  All the racers went to her, even her rivals when she started racing again, when Baze was three, and Zorig started managing her business for her.  He could help with the basics of mechanics, but it turned out that Enkhe was a better hand at it than he.  She was around a fair bit, watching Baze when he was little, and becoming more a part of the business and their family in her spare time between shifts at the medical center in Zonju.

Baze learned to fire a blaster when he is six.  There were rattle-winders and other aggressive creatures out in the sands, and his mother could either keep him constantly underfoot in her shop, or she could let him wander the strip of desert nearby, near enough to be heard but far enough that if one of the creatures were to surprise him, he would need to be able to protect himself.  His blaster was small, with barely enough charge to take down a rattle-winder, so he couldn’t hurt himself with it more than by giving himself a nasty jolt, but it did keep him relatively safe.  Baze rarely had to use the blaster though, preferring to find a perch on a tall rock and watch the rattle-winders fight it out over a morsel of prey from above.  They had little interest in him when he wasn’t moving because he was too big to eat, and he wasn’t causing them any harm.  

When he was seven, Baze got his first speeder.  It wasn’t even properly a bike, but he was proud of it nonetheless.  His mother made it for him so that he could make the trip into town for lessons instead of staying at home.  Erdain could have taught him herself, but she decided that she would rather he learned in town with the other children, and Baze was excited for an adventure.  His first day, he strapped his bag with his school supplies to his back, and took his little bike with its protective seat and foot rests, and he followed Enkhe on the route into town.  He was glad that he didn’t have to do the trip alone the first time, and the nights Enkhe spent with his parents were always good ones because she made the best sweet cakes in the mornings.  Baze had had three for breakfast, and he had another two wrapped in the bag tied to his back for his lunch along with a few more nutritious things.

His mother had showed him how to work all the controls, and at seven, he had dreams of being a racer nearly as good as her, so it was a little bit disappointing that his little bike couldn’t clear the ground more than enough to get over small obstacles.  He’d grown up on tales of his mother’s most daring races before he was born, and now that he was old enough, he’d even seen a few of her races, though nothing had been blown up in any of them.  He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed.

He wasn’t sure what to make of school at first.  There were about a dozen other children there, the youngest were a year or two his junior, and the eldest were nearly twice his age.  The school teacher was a stern middle aged man who didn’t know quite what to make of him but mostly decided to ignore him when what his mother had already taught him made him ahead of his age.  Baze was quiet in school, spending more time doodling the outline of the crag outside of town he could see from the school window, the one where he knew that his mother had crashed one of her racing opponents once than actually working.  He did well enough, but he was lonely.

One day, when he’d been going to school for nearly a year, while he was loading up his little speeder and was the last to leave the school yard, a strange man approached him.  Baze made sure that the speeder was in between them, trying to decide if he should just climb on and try to get away or figure out what the intention of the man was.  He compromised, getting in the bucket seat, hands on the controls, and waiting to see what the man would say.  The strange man, with strangely familiar features under balding hair, spoke, “You must be Baze, the son of Erdain Jhargal.  I’ve been hearing that she’s at last come to her senses about giving you an education, though my messages about sending you to the real school apparently fell on deaf ears.  It’s that smuggler husband of hers, though she was wayward even before that happened.  And now I hear that she’s taken up with some small time nurse as well, the daughter of one of the swoop race gamblers.  It hardly seems like a fit environment for my grandson to grow up in.”

Baze’s eyebrows knit together, looking at the strange man, apparently Jharg, his mother’s father.  He didn’t like the tone in which the man spoke of his father or Enkhe, and in a soft but firm voice, he said, “I don’t like you very much.  I’m going home.”

He heard the man behind him shouting, “We’ll see about that soon.”

He worried as he got close to the path where he normally met Enkhe going back out to the shop, but she showed up at the bend in the path just as he approached their meeting place, and as they rode side by side, he told her what had happened.  He asked, voice wavering, “Why doesn’t he like Mama or Baba or you?”

Enkhe sighed and shook her head, telling him, “Because Erdain is his only daughter, and she didn’t do what he wanted her to.  Not all parents are kind to their children, and he thinks that Erdain’s choices reflect badly on him.”

Baze looked up at her confused, keeping half his attention on the path in front of them, and said petulantly, “But Mama is amazing!  She wins a lot of races, and everyone knows she’s the best at fixing anything.”

Enkhe shrugged and told him, “He had dreams that perhaps someday she could become a senator if Zonju ever gained enough power to be recognized by whatever government was in power.  He wants power more than he loves her, and he doesn’t like Zorig for smuggling goods in at lower prices than his own goods.”

Baze was quiet for the rest of the ride, simply nodding when Enkhe asked if he would prefer that she told his parents about what had happened.  When he finished taking care of his bike and putting his things in his little room, he took his blaster and went out to sit on a rock and watch the rattle-winders.  They were comforting, and they didn’t have any opinions of him other than whether or not he was in a position to be likely to step on them.

He breathed deeply, enjoying the dusty smell of a calm day in the desert.  That smell was home, and there was no sense of a sandstorm, so he was fine to bask in the sun.  On days like these, when he slowly relaxed watching the rattle-winders, the sun pressing down on his back, he could feel something in the edge of his mind, and echoing of words,  _ Look to the Force _ .  They were important words, but he felt like they were missing something important.

He was faced towards the little house on their land so that he could see if someone was calling him in for dinner before they had to yell, and he stared wide eyed when he saw a dozen swoops sweep down into the yard coming from the direction of town.  He stayed very still, not quite sure what was going on.  His mother was the one who came out to meet them, and in the stillness of the air, he could catch her words, “What do you want here.  You know I don’t do maintenance for the swoop gangs, especially not you who do favors for my father sometimes.  I wouldn’t swoop nearly that low.”

Baze could see Enkhe now, in the shadow of the house.  He hadn’t been paying attention before, but she must have been getting water from the cistern in the back.  He didn’t know where his father was, but he suspected indoors.  The man at the front of the swoop gang took a large step towards his mother, but she didn’t step back, instead staring up at him defiantly when he growled, “You’ll take care of this lot, or else, we’ll see about arranging for something.”

Erdain tossed her braids back over her shoulders, crossing her arms and stamping her foot emphatically, “You’ll get off my land, or I’ll make you get off my land.  I won’t do it, and nothing that you try will make me.  You prey on your own people, and I’ll have none of it.”

The man sneered down at her and said, “Your father sends his regards by the way, and says that he’s been watching the boy, and he’s got potential.  He’ll want to be bringing him into town soon enough.”

Erdain hissed, “Over my dead body, and I won’t go down easy.”

The man burst into laughter, his followers joining him, and Baze seethed with rage for his mother.  He could see her going for the blaster holstered at her hip, and he worried.  His mother was of course the best, but there were a lot more of them than there were of her.  Suddenly, Enkhe and Zorig were at her sides, all three of them squared and ready towards the swoop gang, and Baze wished he could stand there with them, the entire family together against these people being cruel.

Zorig spoke then, “You heard my wife.  Get off our land, and we’ll let you go, though we won’t help you with your bikes.”

The leader laughed again briefly, a discordant sound that grated against Baze’s ears, and said, “Don’t you worry. We’ll be back soon.”

The group of them pushed off together, and Baze, while watching carefully for rattle-winders, went running to where his parents were.  Zorig caught him up in a hug, hoisting him up onto one of his hips like he often had when Baze was littler, and he patted Baze’s braided hair, saying, “Don’t be afraid.  We’ll take care of you and the house just fine.  They just want to scare us.”

Baze didn’t know what to say, so instead he just buried his face in his father’s shoulder and held on.  That night, quite late, he was woken from fitful sleep by the whispers of his parents.  Enkhe was saying, “This is different, especially with your father being involved.”

Erdain’s voice was the closest to normal speaking, and Baze was fairly certain that it was hearing his mother speak that had woken him.  She replied, “I don’t know what he thinks he can pull, but he’ll be sorely surprised if he thinks it will work.”

Zorig’s voice was the softest, and Baze wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he hadn’t been all the way awake by that point, “I’m worried this time dearest.  This is more than just intimidation at a race, or a few of them coming here.  There’s something bigger going on.”

The shuttered windows rattled the way they sometimes did when Erdain was frustrated, and she muttered, “It had died down years ago.  Why now?”

There was a pause, and Baze guessed that one or both of them were holding his mother, calming her down a bit.  Enkhe was the next to speak, “There was a ship in dock that I’d not seen before today.  That’s the only thing that I could think of.  I didn’t have the mark of any of the merchant groups or smuggling rings that generally come through, and it wasn’t an official New Republic ship either, not that we see many of those out this far.”

Zorig sounded curious when he asked, “Do you think that there’s a connection?”

She shrugged and said, “It was just that it was strange.  There were a bunch of people in dark robes, hoods up, and they went in and out of your father’s house several times.  They hovered around both of the schools, and then they managed to get into the private data of the hospital despite those of us lower down the chain not liking the idea much.  I don’t know what they’re after.”

Baze sat bolt upright, suddenly convinced there was someone outside the house, but before he could say something, there was a pounding on the door.  Enkhe ducked into his room, and saw him sitting up on the bed.  She came and sat beside him, curling comforting arms around him, and said very softly, “Did we wake you?”

Baze nodded, but he knew that he needed to be silent because whatever was at the door probably wasn’t good news.  He heard Erdain stomp her way across the main room, and she shouted, “Who are you and what do you want?  It’s the middle of the night.”

There were a bit of a buzzing noise and a rasping voice said, “There’s someone in this house that has a strong Force presence, and we will bring him or her to the full glory of the Force.”

Erdain hissed, “There’s nothing here like that.”

The man on the other side laughed, high and pointed, and Baze shook when Erdain gasped at what ever caused a sound of crackling and a smell of burning.  Then she choked out, “It’s me.  I’m the one who things happen around sometimes.  That’s what you mean right, being able to do weird things with your brain.  I’m the one you’re looking for.”

Enkhe held him more closely, and Baze knew that they might have been looking for his mother, but they were probably looking for him too.  He stayed very very still.  He heard something fall to the floor with a thunk, and the man’s voice said, “She’s telling the truth.”

A higher, more nasal voice answered from behind him, “Well then, let’s get out of here, take her, and we’ll have something to show for our efforts on this dustball.”

Baze heard the crack of a fist connecting with flesh, and the man hissed, and he knew that his mother had just punched the man, but the man ground out, “You’ll regret that.”

There was the sound of feet dragging, and then nothing for a moment.  Then two swoops screamed away, and Baze wondered how no one had heard them arrive.  Suddenly, there was a gasping of breath from the main room, and Zorig called out, voice raspy, “Are you still there?  Did they not find you?”

Enkhe helped Baze to his feet as she replied, “We’re here and unhurt.  What happened?”

She guided Baze out to the main room, and there they found Zorig kneeling on the floor near the door.  He looked up at them, seemingly helpless, and said, “They took her, and I couldn’t do anything.  I couldn’t even breathe all of a sudden.  The man in the cloak waved a hand, and I was choking, but she punched him.  She was able to move around.  I don’t understand.”

Enkhe helped Zorig to his feet as well and said, “I have heard strange tales of the Force they speak of, and if Erdain was strong in it, and you are not, then maybe she was able to resist them when you were not.  They were clearly stronger still though.”

Zorig let out a long whining noise, and Baze suddenly realized that his mother had been taken away and burst into tears.  Both Enkhe and Zorig were quick to wrap their arms around him, murmuring softly in an attempt to comfort him, and Baze managed to say, through his tears, “How are we going to get Mama back?”

Enkhe hugged him a little harder, and then told them both, “I’m going into town to see what I can find.  I don’t want us surprised if they come back, and I want to know what happened.  I know more people in town.  Stay safe until I come back.  Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to bring her too.”

Zorig nodded and kept his arms around Baze.  He said, “We’ll go sleep in the shop.  It’s still too close for comfort, but maybe if they come back, they won’t think to look there.”

Enkhe hugged them both quickly, and then she too went out the broken door.  Baze was scared that she would be leaving them behind as well, but he hoped too, hoped that she would find his mother and bring her back.

Baze was disoriented when he woke the following morning on a mat in the workshop.  There was light filtering in through the poorly covered window, causing swirls of golden dust to fill the air, and Enkhe and Zorig stood close together on the other side of the room.  They whispered to each other, clearly trying not to wake him.

Enkhe shook her head in response to something that Zorig had said, and she replied, “No, they’ve departed.  She was on the ship.  One of the people I talked to in town, she said that they had taken her teenage son with them, but he had gone willingly.  They were calling themselves and Order of the Guards of Darkness, or something like that.  No one new quite what they were, but they were powerful, and it was apparently hard not to agree with what they asked.  Most of the merchant types seemed happy enough.  They’d had good coin apparently, and the other two that they took were mostly willing about it.  There’s no word of where they took them, but they were apparently looking for apprentices.”

Zorig sounded to be on the verge of tears, but he took a shaky breath out trying to compose himself before speaking, “So she’s alive at least.  She’s out there somewhere, and maybe she’ll make it back.  We don’t know where they’ve gone.  There’s nothing that we can do.”

Enkhe sat down in one of the workshop chairs, looking like all of the energy she’d been running on had drained from her, and she said softly, “Nothing yet at least, but maybe you could go back to smuggling, and see what you can learn of them, about where they are.  Erdain might need help, and we might need to find someone to help Baze learn, if he’s got whatever powers they were looking for.  Otherwise they might be back.”

Zorig looked over at Baze, and he told Enkhe, “I can’t leave him, not right after his mother.  Maybe in a few years.”

Enkhe sighed and replied, “We’ll keep talking about it, but I want her back too, and I think she’s going to need help.”

Baze sat up then, drawing their attention, and he said, “I want to help find Mama.  I don’t understand.”

As an afterthought, he added, “And what’s the Force?”

Enkhe came and knelt by him on the mat.  She said, “We’ll do what we can to find her.  We don’t know what that is yet, but we’ll figure it out.  The Force, well, I don’t know all that much about it, but it’s some mystical power, there used to be many people who used it, but they all or mostly died, and now, there are other groups, but some of them are evil or cruel, and others are not. I don’t know why they took Erdain, but if they took her, then some might want you as well eventually.  We want to try to find one of the good types to help you.”

Baze nodded, trying to look fierce despite his shaking voice, “Maybe if I can learn this Force I can save Mama.”

Enkhe hugged him tightly and said, “Maybe, though it will be some years yet I think.  And maybe Erdain will save herself.  She’s rather good at that, but I don’t know where she is now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on this chapter. Life happened, and I wasn't able to get much writing done for a bit. Hopefully I'll be back to posting chapters pretty frequently soon. Thank you so much to all the people who have bookmarked, subscribed, and left kudos and comments! I've been so stunned with the reception this has gotten. I hope you continue to enjoy it!


	7. Away From Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chirrut leaves home to seek training for his Force sensitivity, but his travels do not go exactly to plan.

Chirrut held his new staff close to his chest.  He was not used to the long piece of flexible wood yet, but he already appreciated the use of it because he had not spent much time at the little space port town twice as far again as the little school he had attended for what felt like most of his life, and the staff had kept him from tripping more than a few times.  He held his mother’s hand, listening to the ship settling onto the empty landing pad.  Durjeh put a hand on his shoulder and said softly, “Chirrut, my nephew, you can always come back to us.  This will always be your home.”

Chirrut nodded, not turning to hug his mother and uncle like he wanted to just yet, and replied, “I promise I’ll come back someday.  I couldn’t bear leaving otherwise.”

The transport ship to Takodana, where he would be meeting a ship to the New Jedi Temple established under the protection of the New Republic, would be a new experience with many new spaces to find his way through.  This had prompted the making of the cane.  It had taken four or five tries to find a good balance between weight, strength, and sufficient vibration to give useful information, but he was glad that he would have a part of his home world with him as he traveled.  The wood still smelled of freshly cut boughs, and though he knew the smell would fade over time, he cherished it for the time being.

His mother dropped his hand to hug him tightly as he heard the boarding ramp begin to lower, and Chirrut wrapped one arm around her awkwardly.  She said, “I will miss you my little Chirrut, my son.  You seem far too young yet to leave, but I will not hold you back.  Send messages if you can.”

He leaned a little bit more into her then.  At thirteen, he was nearly of a height with her, but just this once, he did not mind being called little again.  Durjeh hugged him in turn, a warm comforting presence, and said, “I could come with you for at least the first stretch if you would rather.”

Chirrut sighed, half wishing he felt comfortable agreeing, but there was too much to be done to keep their little farm afloat, and he knew that his mother could not do it all alone, though she would have tried.  He shook his head and told him as he already had many times, “I’ll be fine Uncle.  You are much more needed here.  I’ll have my adventure and try to send messages.”

He’d been shocked when his teacher had said that he might be sensitive to the Force.  It had been such a new idea to him then, but she had seemed convinced based on some of the broadcasts that the New Republic had released, so he had tried some of the tests they had sent.  It had felt natural, and his teacher had contacted the right people, and a transport route had been planned.  He squared his still narrow shoulders, remembering the calm of his favorite stream in the woods, and used his new cane to guide himself over to the spot of light that formed in his ever dimming vision.

An unfamiliar voice hailed him, “You that kid we’re picking up to drop off at Maz’s?  On Takodana.”

Chirrut nodded once, firmly, and replied, “I am.”

The voice replied, “I'm Aranna, captain of this piece of junk you’ll be calling home for the next while.  What's your name kid.”

He took a moment to follow her words, processing an accent wildly different from any he had heard before, before replying, “It’s Chirrut.  Chirrut Tahshi.”

She didn’t reply at first, and he waited for more instructions, before at last, she said, “Sorry kid, I’m not quite accustomed to the having to say everything I mean.  Chirrut, right, follow me up the ramp.  Will you need help finding things or are you just not good at detail?”

Chirrut replied, “If you let me walk through the space and tell me where things are, I should be fine for later.”

Aranna replied more quickly this time as well, “Sounds good kid.  Just follow me.  Glad I wore the clacky boots today.  That way you should be able to find me even if I forget about talking for a bit.”

Chirrut nodded and said, “That should be helpful, yes.”

The ship was small, with only about four people on crew, though there could have been one or two more he hadn’t been introduced to.  He was staying in a small bunk room that he was pretty sure was meant to be captain’s quarters, but it sounded and felt like they’d set it up to make a bit more return on shipping and smuggling runs by being able to carry passengers.

He spent the first part of the journey quietly in the room, not wanting to be underfoot, but when the captain came to get him for a meal, she said, “You don’t need to hole up in there if you don’t want to.  We’re friendly enough, and there’s more to see -- well do I guess up here.”

He stayed in the common space of the ship after that, still too out of his element to socialize much, but at least getting the chance to listen to the others more.  The feeling of coming out of hyperspace was more unsettling to him than going into it had been, and he waited nervously, hoping that someone would confirm there was nothing wrong.

One of the navigators spoke then, voice wavering, “Hey captain, I know this is our fuel up stop, but we might want to just carry on to Takodana.  We’ve got enough to get there, and there’s a lot going on on our sensors.  Don’t know what it is, but at least some of those are fighters.”  

Chirrut heard Aranna clack across to the station where the voice had come from, and she sounded worried when she replied, “You’re right, those don’t look good, hopefully we can get out before they spot us.  It’s closer than I’d like, and Maz charges higher prices than I like, her prerogative of course, but I’ll make do.”

There were beeps and whistles and general ship sounds that Chirrut was unfamiliar with as the crew prepped the new hyperdrive course.  Then suddenly, the ship lurched.  Chirrut toppled from his seat, and one of the crew members called out, “Someone’s got us in a tractor beam.  I don’t know what they want with us.”

Aranna snapped, “Whatever it is, it probably isn’t friendly if they tractor beamed us before they hailed us.  Chirrut get back to quarters and lock the door.”

As he headed back the way he came, a voice came over the transmission, “We are the Order of the Guards of Darkness, and there is one on your ship who would be invaluable for our Order.  We ask you to comply quietly or else we will have to take definite action to take the Force sensitive individual with us.”

He didn’t catch Aranna’s reply, though it seemed to be filled with swearing from the tone of it, as he continued to the room, but he knew with a sense of growing dread that he would not end up where he had meant to go.  There was nothing that this crew could do to protect him here.  He thought about going to the boarding ramp to meet them, so that as few people as needed would be hurt in the process, but he was frightened.  He lingered in the doorway of his room instead, and he waited.

There were pounding noises, echoing ominously through the hallways of the small ship, and it was not long before he heard the ramp sigh open.  There were pounding feet and the swishing of cloaks, and soon, they grew near to Chirrut, still frozen in his doorway.  One of the sets of pounding footsteps stopped, and nasal voice clipped out, “We’ve found him.  Boy, come with us, and the crew of this ship will be safe.”

Chirrut felt himself take an involuntary step forward, and he leaned back on his heels, thinking of his stream and grasping his staff tight.  A lower, rasping voice said, “Well he’s small, might as well just take him with us.  It’s going to make this simpler, and you’re not likely to convince him.”

Chirrut waved the cane wildly in front of him, hoping that it would somehow help, and he did get one resounding smack against one of them, eliciting a yelp of pain.  Before long though, something not quite there impacted his head, and he slipped into nothingness.


	8. Prisoners of the Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chirrut wakes up and discovers his surroundings. He also makes a friend.

Chirrut awoke in a large, echoing space.  Intermittent metallic clangs broke the general silence.  As the realization hit that he had no idea where he was and that he’d probably been put there by the assailants who had attacked the ship, his breath came shallow and too fast, and a pounding rhythm seemed to start in his head.  

He realized suddenly that he was still holding his staff,  and he focused on that.  The wood still smelled of home, and he could feel the slight asymmetry of where his uncle’s hand had slipped when carving the staff.  He took a deeper breath, then another, and tried to think past his initial panic.  He remembered what Durjeh had told him when he was young, “If you let yourself listen and wait, the sounds and scents and feelings of the forest will tell you far more than eyes ever could.”

This wasn’t what his uncle had meant exactly,  but it would work just as well he figured.  He took a few more deep breaths and then sat up.  He was a bit surprised that there were no restraints on him, but he put it out of his mind so that he could focus.  He kept his hands firmly on the staff and crossed his legs to sit comfortably.   _ Breathe in,  breathe out. _  He was sitting on a cross-hatched metal floor, which was chill, but not terribly cold.  The sighing of a ventilation system came from far above him.  There were not many other nearby sounds, but he caught the sounds of three other people breathing.  They echoed a bit, though none of them were loud.

He took another deep, steadying breath and tried to understand the situation.  He was almost certain he was still on a ship.  The room he was in was probably a store room of some sort, emptied to hold people instead, but he had heard no one enter or exit so far.  The other people breathing were probably near the edges of the room, in corners or possibly between crates or boxes from the small echoes their breathing created.  From the even rhythms of their breaths, Chirrut was fairly sure that they were all three asleep.  He suspected fellow prisoners, not guards, because of that.

The room was big, at least four time his height and probably a good hundred strides across.   Chirrut felt exposed.  He was fairly sure that the others in the room were over by the walls for the same reason.  Two of them were quite close together, and another was almost opposite them.  After a moment’s consideration, Chirrut stood and made his way closer to the person who was alone, sliding his cane lightly across the floor, and trying not to wince at the light scraping noise it made.

As he approached, he heard the person start and shift.  Chirrut paused far enough away from them to not be in reach and waited.  He tried to look neither threatening nor weak, and he hoped that whoever he had approached would not be aggressive.  A rough, rumbling woman’s voice came from in front of him, “I see they’ve brought in another one.  Come here boy, and tell me your name.  You can’t be too much older than my son is.”

Chirrut crept closer, hesitating, but he replied softly, “I’m Chirrut.  I’m thirteen.  Do you know where we are?  Who are you?”

She let out a dry chuckle and told him, “I’m Erdain.  You’re a bit older than I thought you were Chirrut, but only about three years older than my son.  I won’t hurt you.  Come sit with me and I’ll tell you what I know about all this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter this time. I hopefully will have something else up soon. I suspect I'll often manage to write a chapter on Wednesdays.


	9. Erdain's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erdain tells Chirrut a part of the story and he meets the others taken by their captors a little bit.

Chirrut followed her voice and his sense of where she was to come sit beside her. He tried to relax. She felt calm and safe to him, though there was definitely some sort of anguish around her. Chirrut cradled his staff against him and said, “Please, tell me.”  
  
Erdain paused for a moment, and Chirrut suspected she was smiling at him. Her tone was gentle as she began to tell the story:  
  
“My knowledge of this group starts about two years back when I was taken from my home. There were strange, black-robed men who came to Zonju, my home planet. They were searching for Force sensitives to bring into their order, the Guards of Darkness. They don't seem to like the new Jedi Order, but don’t want a new empire either, very everyone for themselves sort of philosophy.  
  
“It’s ridiculous in a way, considering they think that that, but then they take people against their wills from their homes. They threw a bunch of us in together, in this space, it’s some sort of converted storage bay. Kids as young as eight all the way up through me. They were after my son, but I’m Force sensitive enough that they took me and thought they were done.”  
  
She sighed, and Chirrut heard the light thump of her dropping her head back against the metal of the wall. He nodded, not wanting to interrupt her thoughts, but to show that he was listening and interested to hear more. She continued after taking a few wavering breaths, “They encourage us to fight. They usually step in to take away the winners before it gets too bad, but they’ll do things like give too little food, or encourage bullies while they pull people out of the hold. Children who are young and anger easily tend to stay down here the least time before they get brought out to other areas to continue training. They generally seem to get removed because they use the Force in anger. I think that’s what the watchers look for.”  
  
Chirrut mulled over what she had said for a bit, and finally, he told her, “I was on my way to a pick-up to go train with the New Jedi. There was a transport ship from Duhma to Takodana. I wonder if my mother and uncle have heard what happened, and if the transport ship crew is alright. They were kind.  
  
Erdain reached out and laid a gentle hand on his knee, somewhat surprising him, and said, “They didn’t seem too preoccupied with leaving death in their wake from what I’ve seen, though they weren’t worried about hurting people either, but if they got what they wanted, they probably didn’t do too much besides.”  
  
Erdain sighed again and said, “There’s a bit more I’ve learned though. They do experiments sometimes, take us away and use the Force to try to get responses out of us, or put something in the food and water. A lot of it seems to try to make us more aggressive, increase our Force levels, or lower our control. They haven’t bothered with me much because I’m not really what they’re looking for I think.”  
  
There was suddenly the sound of stirring on the other side of the room, and Chirrut asked, “What are the others in here like?”  
  
Erdain was quiet for a long moment before saying, “There’s two of them, both a little older than you, but not much. They’ve been in a few scraps with each other, but not with me so far. I’ve been in here the longest, and I keep myself prepared to deal with threats. I think that they have us on some sort of boosters right now because there’s been plenty of food, and those two have been much angrier. One of them is a rather tall hulking type, and the other is shorter but also solid.”  
  
Now that the other two were stirring, Chirrut tried something that had occurred to him. He focused on the smell and feel of the staff between his hands and tried to find the calm that he took from sitting at the bend in the stream in the woods at home. When he was calm and breathing evenly, he tried to reach out with his sense of the space instead of his hands, reaching for the two young men he’d been told were there. They were restless and angry, and he suspected they were just starting to notice his presence. Erdain said, “They’re heading this way. I’ll deal with them, but pay attention. You’ll understand some of how this goes.”  
  
Chirrut nodded to her, and focused in again. Erdain had stood, but he maintained his seat. The other two were near now, and one of them said, voice grating against Chirrut’s ears, “Old lady, let us meet the new boy. See if he’s strong enough to deserve to be here.”  
  
Erdain paused eloquently before replying, “No.”  
  
Chirrut heard a rush of air, and he was pretty sure that the young man had thrown a punch. It was followed by a smack and a thump, with a stronger rush of air between as the young man hit the floor. He sensed the other one starting to move, and he snaked out his staff, and was gratified with the sound of someone stumbling and flailing about. Erdain growled, “Don’t think I can’t handle you even if I don’t join in your spats. I’ve been brawling since before you were born, and I’m protecting him, so be warned. Now get back to your side of the room. I don’t want to have to actually hurt you.”  
  
Chirrut heard them scrambling away, and he waited to hear Erdain settling back against the wall before asking, “Do you think they’ll try again?”  
  
Erdain shifted and said, “Eventually, yes, but we’ll have enough time to check that you’ll be able to handle yourself as needed. That was good work tripping the second one.”  
  
Erdain drifted into silence, and Chirrut wondered what would happen eventually. But he settled back as well, listening to the rest of the room and trying to conserve his energy in case he needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note: I'm still working on this fic, but I'm having a super hectic summer, and I'm not sure precisely when the next chapter will be ready. I may find a chance to sit down and finish it soon, or I may literally not have time to do it until September. It hasn't been abandoned though, and I have loved seeing all the kudos that people have left me! I'm sorry it's taking so long for me to update, but life has been happening.


End file.
